Dear Tragedy
by Natushka-86
Summary: [MacStella] “A wise man once said that tragedy is not what we suffer, but what we miss.”


**Title:** Dear Tragedy  
**Author:** Nat  
**Pairing:** Mac/Stella  
**Characters:** Stella  
**Spoilers:** None  
**A/N:** For **fanfic100**, prompt 30. Death. This Fic is for **delgaserasca** because it was her prompt that inspired it, even though it was _"I prefer the Blue"_ (and this is a vain attempt to distract her from the fact I haven't finished my fic for her ficathon XD )

---

Stella stares at the black suit, placing a white dress shirt next to it (crisp and freshly ironed, perfect), a line of ties of various colours lay across their bed. She's still amazed he has so many (after all she did take a pair of scissors to many of them in a vain attempt to get him to lighten up and dear god did that back fire.)

There were days when she missed the material that hung like a noose from his neck.

The ability to use it like a leash and rein him in was never lost on her.

--

"Mac I swear to god, if you answer that…" she doesn't finish her threat, instead letting the sentence hang there for his own imagination to decide.

He picks up the phone.

His imagination, she thinks, isn't vivid enough.

--

Golden buttons on Marine dress blues sparkle at her from the wardrobe, she knows that in the second drawer from the top, in the dresser, she'll find medals that proclaim his bravery and heroism.

Though she never needed to look at them to know that.

--

The shrill call of her phone cuts through the silence. One look at the ID tells her everything she needs to know.

"What is it Flack, you already called Mac in on our day off, I swear to god if you call me in… Well your imagination better be better than Mac's. That's all I have to say."

Silence. Then a shaky breath that sends chills down her spine.

"Stella… I… There's-" She cuts him off.

"Flack, what happened?"

She listens, words ringing through her head. The phone clatters from her hand and silence echoes.

--

For someone that was usually so decisive and so quick to act, she can't for the life of her make a decision.

A creak on the floor board saves her and she whirls around.

Large, luminous blue eyes greet her (eyes she'll never for get)

"Hey Belle, what are you doing up?"

The little girl, always every so quick to assess the situation in front of her (something she received from both parents) doesn't miss a beat.

"What are you doing up Mommy?"

She won't answer her directly, because to do that, she would have to acknowledge the truth and for once, she doesn't want too.

--

"A wise man once said that tragedy is not what we suffer, but what we miss."

She lets that sentence roll through her head over and over, and she can't remember where she read it, but she can't stop thinking about it.

And she can't decide if it's right or wrong.

Because the pain has engulfed her and there's a tightness in her chest that threatens to choke her.

(Its like when she was a little girl and she used to hold her breath under the water, to see how long she could last and she always got to that point where she thought her chest was going to explode, so she would rush to the surface, arms and legs flailing everywhere, in a rushed panic, for that gulp of life saving oxygen)

Expect now, she never breaks the surface and she doesn't know whether its from the sorrow she feels or the simple fact that she misses her best friend.

--

Stella holds her hand out to the little girl.

"Come help me pick out a colour."

Isabelle walks over slowly, taking hold of her extended hand. Her eyes taking in the selection, categorizing and examining, Stella waits patiently by her side.

Carefully she reaches over and picks up a deep blue tie.

"This one."

Stella takes the tie from her, staring at it intently, then smiles down at the little girl making an observation.

"It's the same colour as your eyes"

Isabelle seems to take this in, then looks right back at her mother.

"The same colour as Daddy's"

And its her undoing.

A sob seeps its way out of her throat before she can cover her mouth to stop it. Her eyes sting and she falls to her knees clutching the tie.

Finally she mourns for her husband, with their daughter (the epitome of both of them) hugging her tightly whispering words of comfort.

(I miss Daddy too.)


End file.
